


That One Time At Olive Garden

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance, a bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poland thinks his lover is crazy, America wants to kill his brother's boyfriend for no apparent reason, Norway is totally not a Viking anymore and Canada just might want to be pillaged. Denmark and Iceland are mentioned briefly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time At Olive Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Headcanon for names: using their nation name is considered polite, especially in formal situations or when nations don’t know each other well while using their human name is reserved for family and close friends
> 
> Headcanon for America and Canada: twins, Canada's older
> 
> Song inspiration: “Love Just Is” Hilary Duff

“Your face is _so_ gonna stay that way if you stare too long,” Poland says and America’s gaze is pulled away from his brother and “that guy” to look at him, expression adjusting from murderous to innocent. “Oh, _puh-_ lease! Not gonna fall for that, _kochanie_. You totally know what I mean.”

America straightens in his seat and takes a long gulp from his beer, eyes slowly drifting back to the couple in the booth across the crowded restaurant. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I’m jus’ keepin’ an eye on Mattie.” He tips back the mug and it goes from half-full to empty in one swallow. “Can’t trust those damn Vikings,” he adds under his breath.

Poland rolls his eyes and casually glances toward the target of America’s animosity. “Pretty sure the last time Norway raided a village was, like, a thousand years ago or something. And—totally hypothetically, of course—even if he _were_ planning a hostile takeover, it sure as hell wouldn’t be through salad and breadsticks.”

“Once a Viking, always a Viking.” America raises his empty mug impatiently to flag down their waitress for a refill without looking away and growls when Norway leans across the table to pass what appears to be a stuffed mushroom to Canada’s bear. Canada smiles and America visibly tenses when his brother’s fluttering laughter reaches their table.

“Seriously, what’s your damage?”

America is taken aback by Poland’s use of the phrase and his focus is momentarily broken. He feels a surge of pride that he’s picked up on so much of his pop culture and mentally notes a few more American classics to share before recalling why he had dragged his lover to this particular restaurant in the first place. “Mattie! The hero’s gotta make sure he’s—“

“He’s _fine_ , oh my gosh, he’s more than fine!” Poland groans, massaging his temples with the tips of his thumbs. “Can’t we just enjoy dinner? I don’t get why you’re, like, so totally obsessed with them while they’re still sittin’ here in the freakin’ Olive Garden. Take a chill pill—it’s not like they’re gonna start screwing each other while they’re surrounded by all these people.” He sighs in exasperation. “PDA is _so_ not Norway’s thing.”

“Huh? What’re you talkin’ about?” America looks surprised and Poland feels like it’s the first time tonight he’s got his lover’s full attention.

“Didn’t I ever tell you about the time Norway totally pushed Denmark overboard because he tried to hold his hand after a battle?” Poland pauses to take a sip from his lemon drop and gauge America’s reaction. _Confusion? Interest?_ “It was pretty funny. Anyway, it was also in the middle of the freakin’ _North Sea_ where the closest people were in another boat like thirty meters away. The guy gets, like, really flustered with that stuff when other people are around.” He giggles, absentmindedly fiddling with his scrunchy and pulling loose a few strands of hair. “But that totally doesn’t mean they’re not gonna get all lovey dovey at the hotel tonight. I told you it was, like, _such_ a good idea to book a room on another floor!”

America chokes, nearly dropping his mug and Poland wonders when the waitress dropped off the refill. “Damn it, I don’t wanna hear about my brother being ‘all lovey dovey’ with _anyone_!”

Poland tries to word his question carefully. “You realize he _has_ slept around just like you and me and basically every other one of us in world, right?” America’s jaw drops and he looks so completely scandalized, Poland can’t tell if he’s genuinely shocked or just being dramatic. _Oh, well_. “You can’t _really_ expect the guy to remain celibate all these years, can you?” America’s face says it all. “Like, pot meet kettle, seriously!”

“I’m not—“

Poland ignores him. “Seriously, though, I’ve never seen someone so protective of their _older_ brother. Shouldn’t this, like, be the other way around? I’m kinda disappointed he hasn’t looked over here all angry and such ‘cause I’m, like, _so_ dangerous and not at all ashamed and totally might—will—feel up _his_ brother in the middle of the restaurant.” Poland slips off his shoe and shifts his foot strategically, causing America to blush and throw a hand over his own mouth to muffle a moan.

With the new pinkish tint to his cheeks making him far less threatening, America scowls but Poland just rolls his eyes again. America crosses his arms in a pout. “He’s _barely_ older. And we’re twins, you know, so the whole big brother/little brother thing totally doesn’t work anyway.” He squeaks when Poland curls his toes. “Stop that!”

Poland pulls his foot away and moves his hand under the table to fix his shoe. “Killjoy.”

“Bite me!” America’s eyes widen when the words leave his mouth and he realizes his mistake. Poland grins and reaches across the table to tickle America’s palm playfully.

“We’ll talk about it more back at the hotel, _kochanie_ , if you’re a good boy. Like, turn that frown upside-down!” He smiles exaggeratedly. “Like this!”

“But, Mattie—“

“Don’t ‘but, Mattie’ me.” Poland sighs and intertwines his fingers with his companion’s. He feels the heaviness in the air dissipate as America’s shoulders relax. “Would it make you feel better if you actually got to _know_ Lukas?”

“Lukas?” America frowns. “You know him on that level?”

“Well, you know, Liet and I are totally best friends forever and Liet is part of the Baltics with Latvia and Estonia and Estonia and Finland hang out a lot and Finland is part of the Nordics and the Nordics are pretty much always together and—“

America cuts him off by squeezing his hand. “Okay, I get it.” He can’t help but smirk at his lover’s antics. “So, what’s the plan to get totally awesome brother and totally scary boyfriend on the same page?”

“Well, you guys _totally_ have a lot in common, you know.” He laughs when America opens his mouth in protest. “No, seriously. Norway’s been lookin’ over at _his_ brother just about as much as you’ve been lookin’ at Matthieu. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed but I guessed I underestimated your inability to read the atmosphere.” Poland gestures toward Norway. “See?”

America tries to be subtle when his eyes drift back to his brother’s table. Canada is picking at a large piece of chocolate cake and America wonders when he missed them finishing their meals. Surprisingly, Norway’s dessert appears untouched and he’s holding his fork so tightly his knuckles are white. America’s puzzled until he realizes Norway isn’t even looking at his brother.

“See?” Poland repeats, pointing in the direction of Norway’s line of vision. The two nations occupying the table are sitting so close there’s no mistaking they’re a couple; Poland believes even über oblivious America can see this. “That’s Denmark with Iceland—Norway’s little brother. And, yes, they’re _together_ together.”

“Really?” America’s eyes bounce back and forth between the two tables, between Norway’s homicidal stare and Iceland’s apparent indifference to everything but Denmark’s hand in his pants. Oh, he could _so_ tell.

“The only difference is Lukas didn’t, like, sleep with you before shacking up with your brother.”

“That’s actually kinda creepy,” America admits, unable to look away from what seems to be the train wreck of the Denmark-Iceland Express. The smaller nation is blushing heavily, though he sports the redness without a hint of shame as Denmark’s hand continues to stroke. He moves faster and faster until, with only a single arch of his back, Iceland comes. It’s the least theatrical orgasm America’s ever seen. When Iceland’s breathing levels, he leans up to capture Denmark’s lips in a kiss and America’s sickeningly sure he sees a tongue. _Tongues_ , his mind corrects perversely. “Okay, it’s, like, extremely creepy. It’s pretty much Iceland and Norway kissin’ each other by proxy.”

“Oh, it’s definitely more than kissing.” Poland doesn’t even bother pointing how many times America and Canada have slept with each other by proxy. At the very least, he knows about England, France, Russia and a few more, but he’s certain there at least a dozen. He doesn’t even want to think about his own steamy night in Ottawa thirty years back because unfortunately he can’t even remember how steamy it got. _Can bygones be bygones if the other person doesn’t technically know about the bygones? I totally need to lay off the vodka._

“You say somethin’?”

Poland hopes his eyes don’t widen _that_ much as he tries to brush it off. “Oh, just talkin’ to myself, you know?” He gives a half-hearted chuckle and refocuses the conversation. “So, how ‘bout it? You gonna give the friendship thing with Lukas a try? For me?” He flutters his eyelashes as he brushes America’s knee affectionately with his own.

America grins, unable to resist as he lifts their intertwined hands to kiss Poland’s palm. “Of course! It’s not like he’ll be able to resist the charm of the hero!”

***

“Hey, Lukas, Matthieu!” Poland waves as they approach the table. He winks at Norway, who slides over in the booth without protest so Poland can sit next to him. Canada pulls his bear into his lap so America has room on his side. “What’s up, you guys?”

“Feliks.” Norway greets flatly and by the shock on America’s face, Poland thinks his lover has never heard Norway speak before this. _He’ll get used to it—lack of inflection and all!_ “America.”

“Mattie!” America wraps an arm around Canada’s shoulder. “Hello, Norway.” He looks across the table and Poland thinks he’s seeing another first as his lover intentionally meets Norway’s gaze. “So, what’re you talkin’ about?” America asks in an attempt to stimulate discussion.

“We were calculating how long it would take an armed longboat to cross the Atlantic Ocean,” Norway answers and Poland snorts at the word choice and lack of emotion in both his tone and expression. He snorts again when he sees how quickly drool has formed at the corner of his lover’s lips as America stares open-mouthed at the stoic nation.

Canada rolls his eyes and Poland feels like they are both part of some secret club where rolling your eyes in response to America is the initiation. Canada practically slaps his brother’s mouth closed with a swift smack to his chin. “He’s kidding, obviously!”

America blinks and continues to stare at Norway as he scoots closer to his brother. “So… you’re really not planning some Viking invasion of Mattie or anything?”

The Nordic nation huffs and rolls his eyes and Poland wonders if they should get membership cards to make it official. Norway looks toward Canada with an odd light in his eyes as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips. “No.” Poland raises his eyebrow when he thinks he hears a slight nuance in Norway’s response; it’s as if Norway is taunting Canada.

Canada glares back defiantly and takes another bite of his cake. “What we do in the bedroom, America, is none of your business, eh?”

Norway coughs and sputters as he chokes, coffee spilling onto the table from his lips and the jolted cup. Poland gives his back a few hard pats and is able to save the remaining coffee by snatching the cup from Norway’s grasp just before he has another coughing fit.

“Oops,” Canada remarks sarcastically, continuing to eat his cake calmly and Poland suddenly figures America did, in fact, know what “passive aggressive” meant when he used the phrase to describe his twin.

And with the matching expressions of discomfort across America and Norway’s faces, Poland figures the two are going to be great friends and that he really must hang out with Canada more often.

***

Norway is still sitting on the bed, back pressed against the headboard, when Canada emerges from the bathroom, hair damp from his shower.

“Luka? I’m sorry.” Canada crawls across the bed, towel around his hips barely hanging on. “I was really just trying to fluster America, that’s all. I know you don’t like talking about that stuff with other people and I’m very, _very_ sorry.” His fingertips run along Norway’s arm, stopping to rest gently on his shoulder. “Very sorry.”

Norway grunts, but turns his head toward Canada and allows the other nation’s tongue to enter his mouth. He tears away the towel and tosses it across the room, though Canada stops him as he reaches for newly exposed skin.

He looks up to find Canada grinning in faux innocence. “Don’t you wanna play plunder the small, helpless Canadian village?” He leans back on his knees, hands on the sheets behind him, so that the entire front of his body is at his lover’s mercy. Norway moans as mischief and excitement creep across his face. Before Canada has time to react, the Nordic nation has flipped them over so he’s hovering over him; Canada gasps in anticipation. Norway holds his lover’s wrists against the headboard.

“Don’t move. I’ll get my jerkin.”

**_Fin_ **

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try something new with rare pairs. The planning for this was quite different. It was supposed to be ensemble, but this band of fools took over *cough* especially Poland. Canada/Norway is my favorite rare pair. And we all know they totally have kinky Viking roleplay sex.


End file.
